


Wide Open

by thingsKTsays



Series: Going Bhakti Basics [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fingerfucking, M/M, Porn With Plot, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 09:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5243954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thingsKTsays/pseuds/thingsKTsays
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something about Jonny, something about his feelings for Jonny - Patrick just can't put his finger on it.</p><p>(He can, however, put his finger <i>in</i> it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wide Open

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to everyone who continues to encourage this madness. To **M** , who made me wait; **S** , who made me keep going; **K** , who made me stick to one tense; and to **T** , who made everything better.
> 
> This is also for PKane - happy birthday, here's some porn.
> 
> And finally, thanks to this dude - for looking like Jonny Toews while doing yoga in his underwear.

Lately they’ve been going out on… Patrick isn’t sure if he would call them _dates_ , really. Maybe if they were anyone else they would be considered dates. It’s just dinners, and the movies, once, and walks around Chicago, and really, it’s all stuff that they’ve always done. But now, with their _thing,_ it feels like more.

And maybe Patrick should have brought it up, brought anything about it up, but Jonny never did, either. So they’ve just been going on like normal, hanging out and playing hockey and occasionally, randomly, getting off together. It’s been strange, but nothing about his relationship with Jonny has ever been normal.

And Patrick knows he shouldn’t want it, he shouldn’t want to get Jonny into a complex pose and then fuck him up until he collapsed. He shouldn’t feel like getting Jonny to let go was something he beat Jonny at, except that somehow he knew Jonny felt the same way - if he held the pose the entire time, he won, Patrick lost, and they both got off.

It’s ridiculous, and convoluted, and they could just fuck like normal people - on a bed or a couch or against a wall - but instead they got yoga mats and boxer briefs and orgasms so fucking mindblowing that Patrick is _still_ jerking off to the memory of rimming Jonny through his underwear, of coming all over Jonny’s spent dick.

And it looks like Patrick is going to get another opportunity, because when he walks into Jonny’s house, he can see the yoga mat spread out in the living room, can hear Jonny moving around upstairs.

He takes off his shoes and jacket and sits on the couch, not bothering to yell out a greeting. The mat is laid out before him, and Patrick can already picture Jonny’s half-naked body spread out on it, muscles shifting and straining as he moves through a relaxing routine, his dick twitching under Patrick’s gaze. Patrick licks his lips and shifts, spreading his legs to make more room as his dick chubbed up against the thick fabric of his jeans.

They haven’t done this in Chicago, yet, just hotel rooms on the road, but Patrick’s ready to take it up a notch. He loves the idea of Jonny walking into this room later, to watch TV or read or play video games, and remembering how Patrick took him apart, how he made Jonny beg and moan and come all over himself. He isn’t sure how it’s going to go this time, doesn’t know what pose Jonny will end up in, whether, oh God, maybe he’ll do that upward-facing dog one Pat saw online, and he could rub his cock all over Jonny’s lips, slip the head just inside, get Jonny to suck on the tip while he jerks off, then pull back and come all over Jonny’s face.

Patrick undoes the button on his jeans and softly rubs his palm up and down his covered dick, hips arching into the pressure a bit. He bites his lip, but he can still hear Jonny in the bathroom upstairs, so he sticks to just lightly running his hand over himself, feeling his cock get harder the longer he waits. Jonny has to have heard him come in - Patrick didn’t try to be quiet, and the door had slammed behind him when he came in. And if he had the mat out, Jonny must have been planning something like this. He must have known what Patrick would think when he saw the mat, the - fuck, is that _lube_ on the table?

It is. It’s fucking lube.

Patrick doesn’t even bother trying to hold in a moan just the thought of it, of what Jonny was implying, what he might let Patrick do to him. Because Jonny can be a slob, yeah, but the rest of the room is clean - clean enough that Jonny must have actually tidied up, and it couldn’t be a coincidence that the lube is out, a brand new bottle by the look of it. Oh God, is Patrick going to get his fingers -

Patrick cuts the thought off right there, because he can hear Jonny coming down the stairs, his bare feet padding against the hardwood flooring of the hallway. He doesn’t acknowledge Patrick at all, doesn’t hesitate walking into the room or pause before kneeling on the mat facing away from Patrick.

Jonny’s only a couple feet away, black boxer briefs straining against his muscled ass like they always are as he rests on his heels, shirtless as usual. He just stays there for a minute, breathing deeply and steadily, and Patrick finds his own breathing matching the rhythm, the hand drifting over his cock going in time with the rise and fall of Jonny’s chest.

Patrick doesn’t know what Jonny’s waiting for. He’s just kneeling there, back straight, his hands probably folded on his lap, and Patrick can see the way his muscles shift and flex with every breath. They breathe in together, and Patrick rubs up towards the head of his dick, little sparks of pleasure sending a flutter through his stomach. They exhale, and Patrick pushes down, down, until his fingers are ghosting over his denim-covered balls.

One more inhale, deep this time, and as Jonny exhales he tilts forward, his back stretching out in front of Patrick, his hands reaching out and his ass still resting on his heels. Patrick wants to mark him up, come all over him, grab his hips and fuck into his glorious ass, but he can tell - this isn’t what Jonny wanted him to see. This isn’t _all_ that Jonny wanted him to see.

He reaches for his zipper, pulls it down, and the sound is so loud in the room, so obvious, and Patrick sees a shudder race up Jonny’s spine. They breathe in, and Patrick pushes his jeans down, kicking them off when they get to his ankles, until he’s sitting on Jonny’s couch in just his boxers and tee. There’s a damp spot where precum leaked through, but Patrick ignores it, because Jonny is planting his hands, pushing up with his arms and shifting his body. And this was it - this is the upward-facing dog one, and Patrick can just imagine what he looks like from the other side, head tilted back and ass clenched tight, and all Patrick had to do is stand up and walk around.

He could pull out his cock and rub it over Jonny’s lips, look down and see Jonny’s eyes lock on his, maybe even wind his fingers into Jonny’s hair, hold him still as he feeds his cock into Jonny’s open mouth. He could do it, it would be so easy, would feel so good, but still - something tells Patrick to wait.

Jonny didn’t leave out lube so Patrick could facefuck him.

Jonny’s breathing is just this side of steady, and he moves again, bringing his head down and pushing his ass back towards Patrick, stretching out, and Patrick would bet that Jonny’s hard. He fucking loves this, Patrick knows. Shoving his ass in Patrick’s face, letting Patrick look his fill - it turns Jonny on to know that Patrick is rubbing his dick to the thought of what he wants to do to that ass. 

And man, does it work for Patrick, too. It’s such a turn on how shameless Jonny is, how he fucking set this up so Patrick could look at him, get off on him, get Jonny off. The way Jonny works so hard, keeps his body under such tight control - it’s mesmerizing. And Patrick hasn’t broken him yet, not really, hasn’t managed to get him to tap out and give in.

Jonny’s taken everything Patrick’s given him, but it just makes Patrick want to give him more, push farther, and Jonny - Jonny wants that too.

Jonny wiggles his feet until his toes are planted on the ground, and then he’s standing up, almost, but he keeps his hands planted firmly on the ground, his feet not quite shoulder width apart. From where Patrick’s sitting, his hand resting on his dick and giving it the occasion squeeze, he can run his gaze all the way up the long line of Jonny’s strong legs, the muscles pulled tight, right up to the curve of his ass, God his fucking amazing ass, and Patrick has to slip his hand into his boxers, has to rub over the head of his dick, hips stuttering and a moan spilling past his lips.

Patrick wants to _destroy_ that ass, and maybe this is it. He looks past Jonny to the lube waiting on the coffee table, and yeah, yeah, he’s going to get it - going to grab the lube, finger Jonny open, shove his dick in there. Only Patrick’s hands on his hips would keep him up, he’d just take it, as hard and fast as Patrick wanted to give it to him, just take it and then come apart around his cock.

His muscles tense, and he pulls his hand out of his boxers, ready to stand. But then Jonny starts walking his hands in towards his body, slowly sliding his legs wider, and wider, and Patrick can see the soft curve of Jonny’s balls, thinks he can even make out the hard line of his dick. Jonny has his elbows on the floor now, his head just brushing the mat, and holy fuck Patrick had no idea that Jonny was this flexible. He’s practically bent in half, and then he shifts more, rests his head on the ground, uses it to support his weight as he moves his arms, pulls them out behind him, weaving his fingers together when they’re fully extended.

And Patrick knows.

This is it.

He springs off the couch and pulls his shirt off, and then, _fuck it_ , he pulls off his boxers, kicking his clothes to the corner as he circles around Jonny on his way to get the lube. He stops, though, because Jonny is breathing so raggedly, and Patrick - he can’t do this if it’s actually uncomfortable for Jonny, if it’s hurting him.

He runs a hand up Jonny’s back, resting it on the curve of his ass, the warm skin trembling beneath his fingers. “Jonny?” And it’s a whisper, barely there, but it seems so loud in the room. And Patrick wants to follow it up, wants to ask _are you okay?_ and _what do you want?_ and _what are we doing?_ , but Jonny just groans.

“Yes, Pat, yeah, please, please,” and holy fuck. Patrick fingers clench, Jonny’s ass tight in his grip, and the _noise_ he lets out at that, high-pitched and desperate, and Patrick feels dizzy with want.

He’s standing beside Jonny, naked and achingly hard, and he wants Jonny naked too, wants to see everything, feel everything, put his mouth on every inch of skin. Patrick hooks his fingers in the band of Jonny’s boxer briefs, pulls them down, just past Jonny’s balls, but he can’t get them any further down, not with the way Jonny’s legs are spread. It’s good enough, though, and Patrick can barely stop staring at Jonny’s ass long enough to reach for the lube. He manages, though, picks up the small bottle and moves back toward the couch.

His cock is jutting out, brushing against Jonny’s underwear, rubbing along his balls, a smear of precome trailing after it. Patrick is so overwhelmed he can barely think, doesn’t know what he wants to do first, and Jonny is shaking, muttering obscenities, _fuck, fuck, yeah, fuck_ over and over again.

Patrick fumbles with the lube, gets it open and pours too much onto his fingers, but he doesn’t care. He rubs at Jonny’s rim with his finger, testing the give, loving the way Jonny chokes at the first touch, _whines_ at the first small push in. He can’t take his eyes off of it – the way the tip of his finger disappears, the way he’s _inside_ Jonny, the feel of Jonny surrounding him, so tight.

Jonny makes a sound like he’s _broken_ when Patrick adds a second finger, and Patrick thinks – maybe he can make Jonny _cry_ , maybe he can get Jonny so worked up that he can’t help it, that he keeps begging and pleading for more, more of Patrick inside of him, more than just his fingers. And Patrick remembers that first time, the smell of Jonny surrounding him, wanting to get his mouth in there and lick inside, taste Jonny all the way through, and yeah – yeah, he could do that.

He’s got two fingers inside of Jonny now, pumping and spreading, and he could hold Jonny open and get right in there, feel the heat and silky smooth tightness right on his tongue, bury his face in Jonny’s ass. He gets down on his knees, legs spread wide, fingers still settled inside Jonny, twisting wetly and scissoring, and Patrick wants his tongue in there _yesterday_ , but he still can’t stop watching the way his fingers disappear inside of Jonny, slick with lube, Jonny letting him in so eagerly. He leans forward just a bit, shuffles his body closer, until Jonny’s balls are right there, and he dips his head, licks a hot strip across them before getting one into his mouth, working his tongue over the skin and sucking lightly.

Jonny fucking loses it.

“Urgh, fuck, Pat, yeah, just, I can’t –”

But it doesn’t matter what Jonny can’t do, because Patrick’s dick is so close to Jonny’s mouth that he can feel the hot air with every word Jonny moans. His dick twitches, and his hips thrust forward, just a bit, just enough to graze Jonny’s lips, and Patrick whimpers, the vibration of it rippling through his mouth and into Jonny’s balls. They’re in some kind of pleasure loop, now, and Patrick fingers Jonny harder, rougher, as he loses control a bit, because he can feel Jonny’s tongue reaching out, like he’s desperate for a taste, flickering across the head of Patrick’s dick, and every time Patrick moans, Jonny shudders, twitches, and makes a sound like he’s _dying_ , like it’s so good he can’t help it, lapping at the slit of Patrick’s cock like he needs it in his mouth.

Patrick lets his free hand grip the skin just under the swell of Jonny’s ass, digs his fingers in and lets Jonny’s balls slip out of his mouth, because he can’t _breathe_ , can’t get enough air into his lungs. And Jonny’s chest is heaving, each exhale lighting up Patrick’s spine as the hot air blows over the tip of his cock, and Patrick just _wants_ , so much.

He wants Jonny, like this, and underneath him, on top of him, every way, always, hard and begging or sleepy and grumpy or making Patrick _be better_ , and he wants that so much, needs it.

“Fuck, Jonny, fuck. You want it so bad, want my fingers, want to taste my dick, yeah, gonna come all over your face,” he can’t breathe, but he can’t shut up, can’t stop fingering Jonny long enough to even _think_ , can’t stop his hips from pushing his dick against Jonny’s lips, Jonny's tongue. “You fucking want that, want me to come on you. Want me inside you, my fingers, my tongue, my cock, you want it so bad.”

And Patrick has never been more sure of anything than he is this - not hockey, not anything. He knows it the way he knows where Jonny is on the ice, knows it the way Jonny’s always in his corner, the way he knows winter follows autumn and day comes after night, and Jonny was _made_ for Patrick, he must have been.

“Want it, want to fuck you up, make you mine,” and he’s going to, he has to, Patrick won’t take anything less. The head of his cock finally, finally slips past Jonny’s lips, and Jonny sucks, too hard, too fast, but Patrick doesn’t care, just throws back his head, slips a third finger inside him, and he can see Jonny’s balls draw up tight, knows he’s about to come.

“Ruined for anyone else, aren’t you, yeah. M’the only one who can get you like this, give you what you want, what you need.” Patrick’s mindless with it, can’t think, barely knows he’s speaking, can’t stop himself from thrusting his hips, fucking Jonny’s face.

“M’the only one you need.”

Jonny moans, deep and loud, and Patrick can _feel_ him come around his fingers, the fluttering and tightening as he orgasms, and he’s done, so done.

He pulls his hips back, almost fighting against the suction of Jonny’s mouth, but he wants - he needs to come all over Jonny, needs to see it painted across his skin. He gets the head out just in time, and hopefully Jonny’s aware enough to close his eyes, because Patrick doesn’t warn him, doesn’t say anything, just comes everywhere, not even using a hand to guide the spray.

Eventually, Patrick stops shaking, but Jonny’s trembling just gets worse. His legs shake, and when Patrick leans back and he can see that Jonny’s face is bright red, his neck strained, and Patrick honestly doubts he can get himself up, that he can do anything except collapse. And that - as flattering as that is, Patrick knows that would probably hurt. So he puts his hands on Jonny’s hips, holding them steady.

“M’gonna pull you back into my lap, ‘kay?” And his voice is soft, wrecked, and so fucking fond. “Just slowly let your knees bend, I’ve got you.” Jonny swallows heavily, and Patrick can see the way his eyelashes are damp, but he starts to move, his knees bending as Patrick pulls his hips back and down, slowly and steadily, until Jonny is sitting in his lap, body still wracked with tremors.

“I got you,” Patrick whispers, and presses a soft kiss to Jonny’s neck.

“I got you.”


End file.
